


Collection

by illiadeum (Zombias)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombias/pseuds/illiadeum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of snippets, one-shots, and various other short fic things inspired by short prompts, photos, or sets on tumblr. Different ratings go for each chapter, warnings are in the beginning author notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 80's university

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From [this prompt and photoset](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/43531677752) on tumblr.

The first time Charles notices Erik, it’s in passing on move-in day. It’s hard not to notice a face like that, even over a laundry cart full of your clothes, knowing that some day it will be sharp and well-defined. The auburn hair and motorcycle jacket aren’t helping much. The way he’s walking down the hall, all shoulders and saunter, is mostly definitely not helping.

The second time Charles notices Erik, it’s just after Charles has corrected a professor about which way a chemical reaction’s equilibrium will shift under pressure if one reactant is a solid. From across the row of seats, on the far side of the class, the auburn haired, motorcycle jacket-clad man from before is stifling a chuckle. Charles can’t say with any certainty what colour his eyes are, especially at their current distance from each other, but he notices - and secretly admires - the subtle glint of mischief in his eyes and in his barely-hidden smirk.

The third time Charles notices Erik, he actually meets him. It’s half a chance and half a spot of luck that Charles happens to be touring for rush week at a frat Erik is already a part of. The tour guide shouts his name loudly and happily - Magneto? That’s certainly a… curious name - and the man at the sink turns around. He gives half a smile for Charles’ guide, and a full knowing one for Charles. Of course Charles can’t help but smile back. Sometime towards the end of Charles’ guide through the frat house, Erik’s fingers lace their way around Charles’ upper arm and his lips find their way to his ear, half startling him out of his reverie as a ginger boy rambles on before him about the frat’s history - something about a horse and a party hat and a stick of butter, he isn’t sure.

“Word of advice, ignore Alex and Sean at all costs,” he murmurs into his ear, close enough that Charles can feel the puff of warmth on his neck when he laughs.

“I’m Charles,” Charles says in lieu of answering with a laugh or anything else relevant to what he said.

“Erik,” he responds, and then his fingers disappear from around his arm, leaving a brand there, and then he disappears when Charles turns around. What he leaves behind instead of a smile and a ‘nice to meet you, Charles,’ is a nice view of his rear as he ascends the stairs. Charles can’t say he minds the trade-off.

The 124th time Charles meets Erik, not that he’s been counting, they fight. He doesn’t remember how it started. There’s plenty of shouting and moments in which Charles really, desperately wants to hit Erik, hardly any of which Charles remembers looking back.

“You don’t get it! You don’t get what it’s like not to fit in,” Charles shouts, his voice faltering and then quieting. “You don’t get what it’s like— what it’s like to be gay.”

It was the first time he ever told anybody that he was gay, and he couldn’t read Erik’s answering expression.

“You just don’t get it,” Charles finishes solemnly.

Erik excuses himself.

Charles isn’t sure what to do without him.

The 125th time Charles meets Erik, not but an hour after the 124th time, Erik intercepts Charles on his way to class on his motorcycle and all but tears off his helmet. Charles makes to continue walking on, hoping Erik will just leave him well enough alone, but Erik, of course, won’t let up.

“Charles, please,” he shouts, running to catch up to him.

“I have to go to class, Erik,” Charles says, trying to walk faster.

“I got these for you,” Erik says, suddenly cutting him off once again - damn those long legs of his - and shoving something against his chest. It’s only then that Charles realises that he was carrying flowers.

“They’re flowers,” Charles remarks intelligently. “You’re giving me flowers?”

“Yes and no,” Erik nods. “They’re flowers, but I’m giving them to someone I hope will be my future boyfriend.” Charles’ eyebrows furrow.

“You said they were for me,” he says with a confused tilt of his head.

“They are.” A pause. “Charles F. Xavier, will you go out with me?”

“Francis,” Charles replies. Erik just looks at him. “My middle name is Francis,” he adds, pressing the flowers back into Erik’s hands. “Take these back to my room and put them in water. Be on my bed when I get back - I’m expecting at least a half-hour make-out session after class.”

The laugh Erik lets out in surprise is the best thing he’s heard all year, even better than hearing about his acceptance letters.

The 126th time Charles meets Erik, Charles does something he’s been wanting to do since the first and kisses him with all of his being.


	2. A Magic Demonstration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik does a few little magic tricks to demonstrate his powers to Xavier Academy's incoming class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the video [PROTEIGON](http://vimeo.com/33480080) and the small series of [prompts](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/43224133778) that followed on tumblr.

“Your powers are a gift, you see,” he hears Erik explain, sees him using just one finger to lift the thin sheet of metal off the table, watches as he spins the sheet up and into a small sphere. The kids before him are completely enthralled, their eyes wide and brimming over with excitement. “They are magic, the same that many kids wish they had, and, now, they are  _yours_.”

One boy, not but six or seven, peers up over the edge of the table, barely able to get his eyes over to look at the sphere twinkling now in Erik’s hand. Erik smirks.

“Here,” Erik says, motioning with the metal sphere. “Take it, and remember what it means.”

The boy, a bit frightened, watches Erik wearily for a moment, probably expecting Erik to snatch it back and tease him. When Erik motions at him again with it, the boy finally moves to place his tiny hand on the cool metal.

“Before I let go,” Erik says, “Tell me what it means.”

“It means I’m special,” the boy says slowly, a drawl stretching his words like all six year-olds do.

“That you are,” Erik agrees, finally relinquishing his fingers. The boy looks on in wonder at it for a moment, then a long, ecstatic grin stretches over his face. He seems to mean to thank Erik, but Erik just waves him away.

“Alright, everybody,” Raven calls out from the other side of the room, clapping her hands together once to get their attention. Kids of all ages finally turn their attention towards her, the boy of six with Erik’s sphere the last to look over. “It’s time for lunch, but we’ll be back soon to finish the orientation. Who’s up for some food?”

“Me, me!” Children all over begin to shout, shooting upright and following after her as she leads them away past Charles, throwing him a wink as she passes.

Once all of the children are away down the hall, Charles turns back to Erik with a smile. Erik looks back at him with not but a single expression on his face.

“You did well,” Charles compliments, moving forward to stand beside him. Erik shrugs slowly.

“It’s easy to entertain a few kids with magic,” Erik brushes it off, and Charles can’t help the smile that widens across his face.

“Maybe you’re better at this than you thought,” Charles teases, though far more of it is telling the truth than teasing him.

“Maybe you’re overestimating children’s attention span,” Erik laughs, pushing himself upright to brush past the brunet, bumping their shoulders as he passes. “See you around,  _Professor X_ _,”_ Erik laughs, waving one hand back at him at Charles’ indignant huff.

When Charles is finally alone in the room, he finds he’s still smiling.

“You really are more than you know, my friend,” he says to himself in a laugh.

Passing one final, fond glance back to where Erik sat, he moves to join them for lunch, still hoping the seat beside Erik is open.


	3. Working the Lightboard (Or, bad attempts at asking someone out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the very, very lovely [synekdokee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/synekdokee)'s opening-line [prompt](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44166044000): " "Oh really?" Lehnsherr said, turning away from the light board to face Charles. "I was under the impression that you were sent to spy one me." "

“Oh really?” Lehnsherr says, turning away from the light board to face Charles. “I was under the impression that you were sent to spy on me.”

“Spying is such… such a harsh word,” Charles laughs, taking the seat next to him and watching his fingers fine-tune every knob and lever Charles can’t even begin to interpret.

“So you’re here simply because my company is so enjoyable, and not because Frost is worried I’ll turn out all the lights again? Is that what you’re telling me?” Lehnsherr hums in that arrogant manner of his, something that both makes him grate his teeth together and adjust his position in the seat.

“I plead the fifth,” Charles says simply, but, oh, wrong answer. That just makes Lehnsherr worse. He sees the man’s shoulders settle in a way that, even from beside and slightly behind him, screams  _full of himself_.

“I figured you would say that,” Lehnsherr replies.

“And I figured you would figure that I would say that,” Charles says with a slightly upward tilt of his chin, just enough to ratchet up how confident he appears to Lehnsherr’s level.

“I figured you’d want me to respond with something about how I figured you would figure that I would figure that, but I won’t bother,” Lehnsherr says. “I won’t play your games, Xavier.”

“Well if you won’t play my game, then you should at least take me out to dinner to make up for it.” He can tell the exact moment Lehnsherr’s eyes land on him, even when his eyes are straight forward, looking out over the stage beyond them. He lets Lehnsherr take his fill before he finally looks back at him, meeting that cool gaze of his. “This Saturday at six, to be precise.”

For a long moment, Lehnsherr just stares at him, and Charles tries not to think about the tangled feeling of rejection building in his stomach and throat too much, choking him out.

“Frost didn’t send you up here, did she?” Lehnsherr asks with an incredibly slight tilt of his head.

“No,” Charles answers honestly, and he hope the word doesn’t sound forced. It’s another long time as Lehnsherr considers him before he finally turns away again, those slender fingers moving back to their designated task with economic precision.

“Well, I for one hope you’re a fan of Chinese take-away,” Lehnsherr says with a certain ring to it that sounds both final and hopeful.

“The biggest,” Charles answers, and from there excuses himself from the lighting booth.

“Oh, and Charles?” Lehnsherr calls, but when Charles turns back around to face him from his position in the doorway, Erik’s not even looking at him.

“Yes?” Charles asks, uncertain, and it’s only then that Lehnsherr’s eyes land on his, cool and dark in a way that makes Charles want to run back home and straight into bed.

“My name is Erik.”


	4. A Few Days Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line prompt from an anon: "[It had been three days since he'd left, and so far, he'd heard nothing](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44170311153)."
> 
>  **Warnings** : character attacked outside of fic, maybe character death (if you want to look at it that way - it's up to you).

It had been three days since he’d left, and so far, he’d heard nothing.

Charles places his textbook down carefully in his lap, scrubbing his hands down his face, his restless energy having built up to the point where he can’t stand himself. He can’t do homework now, not when he’s too worried about Erik being okay.

 _There’s a chance Erik could be dead,_  Charles thinks,  _and here you are doing your homework._

Charles takes his textbook and makes sure to carefully, neatly,  _gently_  close it and place it back neatly on his desk shelf where he had taken it from, his hands shaking with an anxious worry that makes him want to thrash about, break anything he can.

Instead, he lays quietly back down on his bed above his sheets and takes a few steadying breathes.

Erik’s probably okay. He’s been gone for a few days before, so it’s not like this is  _completely_  unusual. Sometimes he goes home for a few days at a time to visit his parents before returning to school.

 _Yes, but he always tells you first_ , Charles’ brain helpfully supplies. Charles swipes the thought away and turns over, letting out a noise into his pillow. Can he tell his professors that he’s too worried over his friend to do his homework, is that a valid excuse? He isn’t sure. Professors probably don’t care, anyway. He groans.

At the door, there’s a knock.

Charles jolts upright in his bed, confused about who it could be at this hour, the time far too late for students to be wandering the halls and knocking on his door to come out to play, especially on a night midweek.

 _“Charles,”_  he hears, along with a slight thunk, and Charles is up and out of his bed and to the door before he can even think about doing anything else.

When he opens the door, it’s only half of what he expected to find.

Leaning against the doorframe is Erik, but he’s bloody and covered in dirt from head to toe, his shirt and jacket torn in various places and his nose caked with blood.

“Please let me in,” Erik says, his voice sounding rough and strained.

Without a word, Charles leads him into the small en suite bathroom, and only once he has the antiseptic in hand does he really get a good look at Erik. Erik closes his eyes as Charles carefully dabs at his wounds, allowing Charles to look at each scratch and bit of dark individually without Erik feeling watched. Around one of Erik’s eyes, he notices, a bruise is beginning to form. His lip is split in three places. He may or may not have a broken nose. Charles wants to shake with his worry, but he stops himself from doing so, knowing exactly why.

It’s the 1960’s. Some people just don’t understand.

Suddenly, below him, slender fingers touch his wrist, then slowly curl around and pull his hand away. It’s only then that he realises he’s crying.

All Charles can do is take in a ragged breath.  _He needs you_ _,_ Charles thinks, trying to keep in his tears.  _He needs you, be strong_.  _Tell him he’ll be okay._

“I love you,” he hears Erik say instead. “I love you, Charles.”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles sighs. “We can’t, we shouldn’t, we…”

“Tell me you love me,” Erik says, and Charles feels him shaking, too. “Tell me you love me too.”

“Of course I do,” Charles answers. “Of course I love you too.”

“Then we’ll be okay,” Erik says. “We’ll be okay,” and Charles feels him leaning back against the toilet, his eyes slipping slowly shut. “I promise.”

Erik doesn’t move again.


	5. Good Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line prompt from the sweet [aliceduikana](http://aliceduikana.tumblr.com/): "[He knew he must keep very still while he waited](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44173057325)."

He knew he must keep very still while he waited. He could do that. He didn’t have to wait much longer. Master would be home soon, he knew it so. It was the time of day when he usually came back to him.

As soon as the door opens, he leans back on his haunches and springs.

-

_“Oof!”_

His grocery bag falls to the ground, the head of lettuce the only thing that spills out, rolling across the floor and under the couch, and Erik finds himself sprawled out on his back, his dog sitting happily atop his chest and stomach.

“Charles, you dumb little dog,” Erik laughs. “You better be thankful I didn’t have eggs or milk.”

Atop him, Charles barks happily, then paws at his chest, making Erik laugh even more, though he pushes at him until Charles makes to slide off his chest and back onto the floor, his tail wagging all the way. Erik gets up, brushing himself off and shaking his head.

“Charles, you’re a  _lab_ dog, not a  _lap_  dog,” Erik says sternly, but when Charles tilts his head at him like he’s trying to understand, he can’t even remember that he’s supposed to be angry.

Picking up the groceries again, he places them neatly on the counter. After putting away the only cold thing he had - a pack of bacon for him and Charles to share - he pats his lab on the head.

“Come on, buddy,” he says. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Erik doesn’t find the lettuce again until Charles attempts to play fetch with it a week later.


	6. Envy Turns You Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line prompt via Anonymous: "[Erik's new boyfriend was some guy down in Forensic Accounting who was really, *really* not Erik's type, and every time Charles saw them together, he wanted to take a swan dive off the roof of HQ.](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44186309577)"

Erik’s new boyfriend was some guy down in Forensic Accounting who was really,  _really_  not Erik’s type, and every time Charles saw them together, he wanted to take a swan dive off the roof of HQ. It broke his heart every time he saw them touch or share a laugh. One time it nearly made him break his arm as well: he had been carrying a cup of hot soup when he saw them lean in close and whisper into each other’s ears, making him trip, barely manage to catch himself, spill his soup, and then slide across the floor and land in a heap of his own steaming chicken noodle. Erik rushed to his side to make sure he was okay, which was a nice touch at least, to get him away from his thrice-damned new boyfriend for a little while, but then he nearly began to cry and couldn’t tell Erik why, despite the German’s pleas to tell him. They were friends, after all, and had told each other those kinds of things before then. Erik didn’t seem to understand when he said he couldn’t tell him.

Thankfully Moira intervened after that and took him somewhere else, where he then proceeded to sob uncontrollably while she ran her fingers comforting along his back and through his hair. Once he calmed down, she gave him leave to go home to “treat the burns to his feet,” and so Charles went, burning not from the hot soup still running down his pant leg, but from shame and humiliation.

The guy Erik was dating wasn’t even all that great. He’s not really sure what Erik saw in him. He’s short and kind of stocky and was really sort of pretty looking. He had nice hair though, Charles will give him that much. It was a sort of dark brown colour, falling in slightly curled sweeps across his forehead. He had something of a pout to his mouth. His name was James or Robbie or Wesley or something. Charles couldn’t really remember (Erik only ever mentioned him all of once, and that was to proclaim that they had started dating), he just remembered that it was something  _not_  Charles.

“Charles?”

Charles jerked upright in his seat, nearly knocking over the microscope he was (supposed to be) looking at. He quickly settled himself down, recognising that voice, and turned, putting on his best face.

“Erik!” He said, trying to sound excited to see him. He kind of was. He also kind of wanted to puke. “So good to see you. What are you… what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Erik replies with a shrug, entering the lab more to walk up next to him. He sort of meandered in, really, making a slow grab for a picture frame set up on Charles’ desk. It was a picture of him and Erik the night Erik got promoted to lead detective. It might be a sort of weird thing to have sitting around in a blood spatter and DNA analysis lab, but it helped Charles focus sometimes, like the other photos of Raven he had sitting around. Erik always liked to touch it - he figured it was the metal frame, seeing as it was the only one he ever touches.

“Charles?” Erik asked again, and then he realised that he didn’t answer the question.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry, yes, I’m fine,” Charles reassured him. Erik doesn’t seem to be very convinced.

“Are you sure?” Erik asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowing as he leant back against Charles’ desk. “You’ve just seemed a little off for the past two weeks or so.”

Absently, Charles really hoped he doesn’t make the connection that he and Tom or Brian or Nicholas or whatever have been dating for almost two weeks now.

“Erik, don’t be silly,” he sighed in a happy-sounding but put-out sort of way. “I’m fine, really. Thank you for the concern though.”

It was a moment or two before Erik nodded, once, then twice.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Well, I just… I’m going out with Simon tonight, so I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course,” Charles replied, smiling widely. “Good night, Erik.”

Erik nodded once again, “Good night, Charles,” and then slowly turned to leave, leaving Charles alone.

As soon as he’d closing the door behind himself, Charles felt his face drop. He turned back to his work, running both of his hands through his hair and leaning forward on his elbows onto the desk, forcing back tears.

After a moment, he reached out and turned down the picture of them together.

He was jealous. He knew he was. Benignly so - he’d never hurt Erik if he could help it - but still jealous. It was eating him up from the inside out and he knew it. Everyone knew it  _except_  Erik, damn him.

He put a hand over his mouth to cover up a loud, hiccuping sob.

He didn’t notice the door finally clicking fully shut, Erik on the other side, his hand shaking on the doorknob.


	7. Serial Killers Make Good Partners To Cops: part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line prompt from the beautiful [Kit](http://invincibleironmacchiato.tumblr.com/) which I ran away with: "[The phone broke the heavy silence with its sharp, clattering ring; he already knew who it was, and what they wanted. In an act of silent defiance, he ignored it.](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44245252985)"
> 
>  **Warnings** : serial killer!Erik, light Dom/sub.

The phone breaks the heavy silence with its sharp, clattering ring; he already knows who it is, and what they want. In an act of silent defiance, he ignores it.

He knows they’ll call back, too - he always does. It’s just a matter of time.

Like expected, it’s less than five minutes before his ringtone breaks the blanket of silence once again, this time sounding even more crisp and clear before, having expected it.

He reaches forward and picks up the phone.

“Now, now, detective,” the voice on the line murmurs without so much as a proper greeting. “We know the trouble that comes with playing games by now, don’t we?”

“It was an accident,” Charles lies. He knows avoiding the question isn’t something he should be doing, either. He also knows the price that came with telling a lie.

But Erik doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he hums across the line as if in deep thought.

“Hm, I suppose I will let that slide, just this once. I’m feeling playful today.”

“Yes,” Charles says, forcing back a shiver with the thought of what Erik might have him do.

“Yes,  _sir_ ,” Erik corrects.

“Yes, sir,” Charles repeats, because it’s really all he  _can_  do. He feels too hot, too  _tight_ , to do much else.

“Charles, you naughty little thing, you’re already hard, aren’t you?” Erik nearly purrs over the phone line. Charles can only swallow thickly, his mouth otherwise dry with how aroused he is, and nod. “You like this, don’t you? Me telling you what to do while you sit in your office at the police station, everyone just outside your door. They’d know  _exactly_  what you were doing if I made you scream for me.”

Against his will, Charles lets out a low moan and drops his hand to cup himself.

“They’d probably take you off the case, wouldn’t they? Off  _my_  case.” Erik hums thoughtfully at first. “But they can’t take you off my case, Charles. I won’t play with anyone else. You’re  _mine,_  Charles.”

 _“Erik,”_  Charles gasps, feeling a bead of pre-come stick to the inside of his shorts.

“Already there, are you, pet?” Erik asks. There’s a short pause then, Charles rubbing himself slowly as he listens to the distinct clink and rustle of Erik undoing his belt and pulling himself out, to the sweet sound of his groan of pure relief at freeing himself. “Leave all your clothes on. Don’t even pull yourself out. I know you have a spare suit in your bottom left drawer, so I want you to come in your pants for me like the desperate little slut you are.”

Charles doesn’t bother asking why Erik knows he has that there, knowing what the answer will be. He needs Erik to play this game full-course.

“Touch yourself for me, Charles,” he says, and so Charles’ hand moves from teasing to really rubbing. He hisses, though, the tightness of the fabric constricting him just a little too much, and Erik shushes him.

“Hush, pet,” Erik advises, making Charles bite his lip and stroke himself through his trousers faster. “Just focus on me.”

“I wonder,” Erik thinks aloud, “If you were here with me, what would you have me do? Would you let me lay you over my knee and spank you? I bet you’d like that.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Charles gasps, unable to help himself, feeling all over like it’s too much, too hot, feels the wet spot on his pants becoming uncomfortable for him to sit through.

“I knew you would,” Erik purrs. “I’d love to get you in your old school uniform - you know the one. I could bend you over my desk and punish you that way, spank you with a ruler until you can’t help but grind against the blotter. Or maybe you’d let me tie you down, one limb to each poster on your bed, spread eagle for me. Tied down like that you wouldn’t be able to squirm when I hit you. You’d probably just cry out for more, isn’t that right, slut? Beg to suck my cock?”

“Yes,” Charles chokes out, feeling unable to even focus through the haze of getting close to the edge. “Yes, yes, sir, please, sir.”

“Come for me, slut.”

And just like that, Charles tumbles over the edge, fast and heady, barely able to catch his breath. He stuffs three fingers into his mouth, moaning around them to try and stifle any sound that comes out, pretending it’s Erik instead.

When he finally comes down, he lets out a breath, blinking slowly, and from across the line, Erik says, “Talk to me.”

“I would love that, sir,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his fingers prod the wet spot where he’s come in his pants, tacky and warm and completely uncomfortable. “I’d especially like to suck your cock, for you to wrestle me down and make me suck you off.” He hears Erik groan. “I’d love to ride you, too, with my hands tied behind my back so I can’t touch myself, to just ride you for hours and hours, for you to force me down in a dark alley and fuck into me—”

“Ah,  _Charles—”_ Erik chokes, and Charles shivers with the realisation that he’s come for him, to his voice, just like that.

After a long, suspended moment, Erik hums, deep and rough in his throat. Charles can’t help but imagine Erik fucking his face until he sounds like that.

“Two bodies, South End Street, second house on the right, the one with the dark blue shutters and no car in the driveway. Their names are Azazel and Janos Quested, married, and they were wanted for murder twelve years ago,” Erik says, and then the line goes dead.


	8. Serial Killers Make Good Partners To Cops: part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line prompt, but this time from the wonderous slimy god that is [Pangea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pangea): "[Do you not wish to finally know the truth?](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44833268357)"
> 
>  **Warnings** : serial killer!Erik, Dom/sub, bondage (tied to chair), possible kidnapping.
> 
> Part I is in the previous chapter.

“Do you not wish to finally know the truth?” Erik asks, and Charles shivers from where he’s tied to the chair. Yes, he does.

“No, I don’t,” he says, and the growl of anger Erik makes as he forces his way back into Charles’ personal space makes his cock jump in his pants, Erik’s knife making it’s way back up to his throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Charles,” Erik growls again.

“I don’t want you to hurt me either, Erik,” he says. “But criminal is criminal, and that’s all there is to it.”

“No,” Erik says slowly, stepping away from him. Charles immediately misses his warmth. “There’s so much more to this than that. Do you not wish for  _justice_ , Charles?”

“This isn’t justice, Erik, this is  _murder_ ,” Charles refuses. He watches Erik’s jaw tick, his teeth grinding one-way in a side-swipe he wishes Erik would do all over his body, until he’s bruised and marked as Erik’s from head to toe.

“I don’t think you mean that,” Erik says, and his eyes glance down to his crotch, Charles’ following.

Oh, yes. Well, there  _is_  that.

”You’re hard,” Erik says, though it sounds choked and forced in a way that makes Charles wonder if his mouth went dry at the sight. Charles doesn’t respond. He doesn’t lower his eyes in shame, either. Erik’s eyes lift back up to his, set alight — a fire he’d willingly burn in. “You’re hard, do you know that, Charles?”

“Yes,” he says, swallowing thickly against his own dry mouth.

Erik’s eyes flit their way back down, seeming to trace the outline of his cock through his pants. The knife makes its way down, too. It, too, traces the outline of his cock, and he resists shivering this time.

“You’re so easy for me, Charles,” Erik says, tilting his head just so. “Are you like this for anyone else?”

“No,” Charles responds quickly. Erik’s eyes come back up to his, studying him thoroughly and with intent. Charles decides that he likes his eyes even more when they’re on him.

Eventually, Erik’s eyes tear their way back down his body, until they rest along his knife. The metal glints in the harsh, damp light as Erik twists it slightly, Charles acutely aware of the tip pressing into his inner thigh. He clenches his teeth together to prevent himself from biting his lip and keening.

Erik shifts the knife just slightly his hand, one long, slender finger resting its way across the back of the knife so Erik can handle it more easily. He takes a slow drag with it, the tip cutting into his flannels, exposing inch after slow inch of milky white thigh. Charles has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing as the knife cuts away more and more of his trousers, the blade sliding just so across his thigh. Just above his knee, it finally presses into his skin and he lets out a cry as blood bubbles up to the surface.

“Hush, my love,” and it’s only then that Charles realises that Erik is sinking down onto his knees before him. “Hush now.” He goes light-headed at the thought of Erik sucking him off while he’s restrained like this.

Then there’s lips pressing themselves to his thigh, lapping at the small wound, and Charles can’t help but let out a gasp of pleasure. He feels more than sees Erik smirk against his thigh, his lips travelling their way up his leg, until finally, god, fuck,  _finally_  his nose presses itself into the joint where his leg meets his groin and his cheek nuzzles at his cock, and Charles’ head rolls back on his shoulders, trying to arch himself up into Erik’s touch as much as possible as Erik mouths at him through his trousers.

God, and he’s already so fucking  _close,_  too…

He hears the sound of the knife clattering to the floor, and when he opens his eyes, he watches as Erik’s hands lift themselves to stroke along his thighs, up and down, up and down, like Erik can’t quite get enough.

“You’re so perfect, Charles, you’re so perfect for me,” Erik says as he nuzzles his face against Charles’ lower stomach. “Like you were made just for me, like you were made  _mine_.”

Charles can’t quite reply, too far gone to even keep his head upright. If he weren’t sitting, he’d probably have collapsed by now.

 _Hell_ , if he weren’t  _tied down_  to the chair he’s sitting in, he’d have fucking well fallen out of it by now.

“Erik,” he groans.

“ _Mine,_ ” Erik hums, teasing him by pressing his tongue into his navel — god,  _fuck,_  that’s so good, but when had Erik undone his shirt? — mimicking what he  _knows_  Erik would do for him if he had the chance to flip him over and lap away at him. “Mine, mine, you’re made for me,” he trails off like a half-formed thought spoken aloud, then bites at the edge of his navel, and when Charles’ abominable muscles quiver, he feels Erik smirk against him once more, pressing a few last kisses there.

“Join me,” Erik says, looking up at him with eyes so dark Charles thinks they could swallow him whole, his hands making their way up his inner thighs, stopping where he can feel Erik’s thumbs  _just_  out of reach of the edge of his aching cock, his thumbs rubbing small circles into his thighs. “Join me, Charles, and we can be together.”

Then Charles realises something.

He realises that those eyes of his look desperate, lost in a way that Charles has never seen on him before. It’s like looking out to a ship lost at sea, knowing he has to be the anchor, the harbour in which the boat can dock calmly, and the one to steer to shore.

Erik doesn’t just want him. Erik  _needs_  him.

 _I love you_ , he thinks.

“Oh god,” he says, and the next instance that Erik touches him, he comes so hard he whites out.


	9. Pool Nonsense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line via the ever-wonderful Syn: "[Charles let out an undignified squack when Erik grabbed his ankle and pulled him into the pool.](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44813492433)"

Charles lets out an undignified squack when Erik grabs his ankle and pulls him into the pool, his arms flailing out wide in a clownish way that makes Erik bark with laughter behind him.

“Jesus Christ!” Charles screeches as soon as he’s come up for air, only to realise Erik’s still laughing at him. Charles seethes, “Erik! What were you thinking, that was dangerous! And I’m still in my work clothes!”

“You should have seen your face,” Erik laughs.

Charles pulls the angriest face he can - which is mostly just a pout - and glares right at the other man, who simply holds his hands up in mock surrender. In a huff, Charles blows a damp, heavy fringe off his forehead. With half a laugh, Erik winds his arms around his waist, pressing his face into Charles’ neck,  _right_  on that spot that he knows makes him moan. He resists the urge to twitch, trying to still be mad at him.

“Can I make it up to you? Perhaps by—”

“I swear to god, Erik, if you say  _pool sex_ , I will—”

“No, whatever gave you the inclination that I would insinuate that?” Erik asks, his grin so wide Charles wants to punch it right off his face. If not for the water slowing his movements, he just might have too.

“No,” Charles says firmly, pushing at the other man’s chest, “but what you  _can_  do for me is get me a whole new suit.”

“Mmn, of course,” Erik hums into his neck, his tongue poking out to lap at the beads at water that have accumulated in Charles’ collarbone, Erik having tugged down his collar and tie far enough to expose nearly one whole shoulder. When did that happen? He doesn’t remember.

“ _Fine_ ,” Charles sighs heavily, shoving at Erik’s chest. “If you run inside and get my swim trunks,  _maybe_  we can have pool sex.”

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Erik cheekily replies, brushing his thumbs over his hipbones.

“I said  _maybe,_ ” Charles retorts, emphasising his point with a serious-looking index finger-point. “And the longer you stand around here, the worse your chances are.”

“Yes, sir,” Erik mock-salutes, already pulling away, the loss of his heat inviting in the cold of the water, making Charles shiver.

“And hurry!” Charles shouts after him, and Erik breaks into a run to get inside.

“Asshole,” Charles grunts under his breath.

A moment later, Erik comes dashing back out, his trunks held in the air, and perfect dive into the pool, coming up from the far end to right in front of Charles with a devious grin, already getting back up into his personal space.

“Do we even need your trunks?” Erik asks, nuzzling at Charles’ chest as he begins to shed his jacket, shirt, and tie. “Seeing as we’re going to take them off anyway,” he finishes, mouthing at one now-exposed nipple.

“Yes,” Charles says, matter-of-fact, “Because you’re exactly 13 nanonseconds too slow to get pool sex.”

The groan of devastation Erik lets out is the best thing he’s heard all day, making Charles laugh so loudly that the neighbours roll their eyes from their windows.


	10. A Night In (Jealousy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening-line via the lovely [ikeracity](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/): "[Erik's new boyfriend was named Zachary, and Charles hated him on sight.](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44946033558)"

Erik’s new boyfriend is named Zachary, and Charles hates him on sight.

“You really should give him a chance,” Erik tells him one night when they’re sitting together on Charles’ couch, feet twisted together, picking at their own cartons of Chinese takeaway. “You two have a lot in common - you’d probably get along.”

“What makes you say that?” Charles asks, not really wanting the answer but wanting to keep Erik around.

“Well, for starters,” Erik begins with a nod, swallowing around a mouthful of rice and noodles. “You both have the same poof hair,” Erik finishes, pointing his chopsticks at Charles’ head. All it ends up with is a harsh kick to the shin in retaliation. “Can’t help it that you’re a posh fucker,” Erik grunts.

“Can’t help it that you’re an asshole,” Charles chimes, then shakes his head, picking at his food. He hopes Erik hasn’t realised that he hasn’t really eaten any of it, too sick with jealousy to do anything but push the carrots in his lo mein around. “Don’t know how that kid puts up with you.”

Of course he does know, though. Of course he does. Being in love with the fool for three years, how could he not?

“You’re one to talk,” Erik grunts, giving a half-hearted kick at  _his_  shins now.

“Of course I am,” Charles laughs. “I always am. You’ve known me for three years, you should know this by now.”

“Gossip monger,” Erik scoffs, but Charles sees him smile through it.

“I just go with what the little birds tell me,” Charles shrugs.

“Raven,” Erik says.

“Well, yes, a raven is a type of bird, very astute of you, Erik.” Erik tilts his head at him in an expression of  _really, Charles._

“I’m serious, Charles, I really think you’d like him,” Erik repeats. “You two could practically be twins you’re so alike, I think.”

“Hopefully not too alike,” Charles murmurs.

“What?”

“Probably we are alike,” Charles says, “but is he so like me that you could just date me and skip the middleman?” Charles asks, trying to be teasing, smirking wide and bright.

“You know I couldn’t do that,” Erik says, looking at him. “You’re my best friend, Charles.”

“Yeah,” Charles says. “Yeah, of course not.”

They have the rest of their meal in silence.


	11. Patron of the Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is a ballet dancer and Erik is a regular attendee with an appreciation for the art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this photoset and prompt](http://starrose17.tumblr.com/post/44933901095/ang3lsh1-all-the-aus-where-charles-does-ballet) on tumblr.

“I have a healthy appreciation for the arts,” Erik says. “Nothing more.”

"I'd say you have a healthy appreciation of that  _arse_ ," Raven scoffs from where she's lying on their couch eating popcorn as he gets dressed.

“Don’t be crude, Raven,” he reprimands.

“Boo, you whore.” She aims a piece of popcorn his way and he swats it away as he goes to straighten his tie.

“Besides,” he adds, “A majority of the proceeds go to charities and dance programmes throughout New York.”

“Which you have a healthy appreciation of funding, huh?” Raven raises her eyebrows.

“Exactly,” Erik nods.

Raven rolls her eyes. “Right, well, I’m going over to Hank’s later tonight, so I probably won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Hank finally gonna get some?” Erik asks with a smile, grabbing his keys and making sure he has his wallet.

“You mean, am  _I_ finally gonna get some?” Raven groans.

Erik laughs all the way out the door.

 

-

He really is just a patron of the arts, though. It has absolutely nothing to do at all with one particular ballet dancer. It also has nothing to do with his meaty thighs that Erik would love to press his palms to. Or the muscled arms that he would like to  _really_  put to the test. And most certainly not the dark, just slightly curled hair that he would love to run his fingers through and give a little tug...

Ahem.

As a patron of the arts, he finds the shows breathtaking; they always are, every story about star-crossed lovers or warlocks or cheating black swan-white swan sister rivalries, each one passionate and desperate and tragic in all their own lights. He loves and appreciates the mixture of openness and tightness in each leap and turn, the trust that must come with dancing with another person in a lift, the synchronized act of a dozen or more dancers spinning all at once in one small area without knocking anyone else over. He appreciates the amount of work that must go into it, memorizing and matching each step, having to know when and how to bend or use this or that muscle.

Or so he tells himself.

But, like the first time he came, his eyes are glued to only one dancer, given the chance that the dark-haired man is on stage. He’s one of only three male dancers, the others consisting of a serious-looking blond, a strong, dark-skinned fellow with a broad chest and great set of shoulders, and a freckled red-head who seems to lose his way should he do more than two pirouettes at a time.

The dark-haired man, though? He is most excellent of the lot, the perfect mix of open and graceful with sharp and precise… in movement, of course. He wouldn’t know much more of the man, as much as he’d like to. But, for now, he does appreciate the precision that he exudes, his (hypothetical) work ethic, and his attention to detail on every move that he makes.

Like he said before, a patron of the arts. Absolutely nothing to do with his strong legs and perfect torso and blue eyes that can be seen even at a distance.

Oh, how Erik loves seeing those eyes…

This time, the story is about a pair of unlikely friends, similar in mind and opposite in ideology, who come together to defeat a threat to all mankind. They fall in love; a quiet sort of love, one that is harboured and known only between the two of them. But, in the end, one of the friends-turned-lovers, the man of blue and white, is shot and paralysed. The other, the man of reds and blacks, rushes to his aid, even though his friend’s paralysis was his indirect, accidental doing. In the very final scene, they go their separate ways. It receives a standing ovation, Erik standing in the very front row, and he swears that as the dancers all bow, that the dark-haired dancer’s eyes catch his with a knowing smile. He dismisses it quickly - the man was probably just looking in his general direction, perhaps at a friend or a lover (his heart clenches at the thought) who was standing behind him.

As he makes his way out, though, a hand meets his shoulder and he pauses, turning around, his eyes landing on a short, dark woman with even darker hair that falls elegantly over her shoulders.

“Excuse me,” she says, “Might you be a mister Erik Lehnsherr?”

He’s shocked, to say the least. Pulled aside at a ballet by a small woman? Anxiety builds up in him - what could he have possibly done to offend anyone?

“Yes,” he nods, “Yes, that is me. Can I help you?”

“Char— ah, Mister Xavier would like a word with you.”

“Mister Xavier?” Erik asks.

“Yes, he’s the owner of this production. He’d just like to thank you personally for all of your contributions to the company and the charity,” she explains, giving him a small smile. She probably noticed that he was nervous. Damn.

“Ah, alright,” he says, and as she nods at him to follow, he feels his nerves settling and curiosity rising as he’s led backstage.

They wander past dancers of all sorts, all the short, skinny girls and the few men grouped together, and through what seems an absolute labyrinth of dressing rooms until they get to what seems to be a corner office with an open door and, there, right in the doorway, is the man with dark hair, stretching his legs in his seat. Erik feels his heart begin to race.

“Charles,” the woman who led him says, rapping her knuckles on the entrance of the door. As soon as the man - Charles Xavier? - turns his head, his blue eyes meet Erik’s. Erik feels his breath catch - it really is him.

But then his eyes are moving away, and Erik feels himself relax as those eyes move to address the woman.

“Yes, thank you, Angel,” he says, and his voice is lightly accented, soft and confident in a way that makes Erik want to twist himself around, get the man drunk enough to hear his full accent, and make him wax lyrical into bed.

“So, Mr. Lehnsherr, is it?” He asks, and, yes, his voice really is quite exquisite. He wants to just listen to it flow from his pretty red lips, even if he were going on about things Erik abhors.

“Just Erik is fine,” Erik responds with a small smile.

“Erik, then,” the man smiles warmly, the sort that Erik wants to drown himself in. Then his hand is extending forward and it’s practically reflexive for Erik to take his hand. “Charles Xavier, how do you do.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he answers politely, not quite yet releasing his hand after the shake.

“Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine, really,” Charles says, and Erik lets their hands slip apart at last, and though Charles seems just as reluctant to let go, he tries desperately to crush his hopes about that, lest they get too large for him to handle. “I wanted to thank you personally for all of your generous donations and contributions, not only to the show, but to our charities as well. I just noticed that you’ve been to the past twenty shows, and at each one you’ve left us quite a large sum.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Erik says, not entirely sure what else to say. Somehow, Charles seems to sense his general unease, as he lets out a laugh that is warm and bright, the kind Erik wants him to make more often but tries not to think too deeply on.

“So you enjoy the shows, do you?” Charles asks with a slight tilt of his head and a gleam in his eyes.

“Yes, they’re very enjoyable,” Erik says with a nod. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a critic in this respect, but watching the shows for me is a very… relieving thing, it seems. I look forward to it each week.”  _I look forward to_ you _each week,_  his brain helpfully supplies. He squashes the thought.

“Hm,” Charles hums, and Erik isn’t quite sure what that means. Charles adjusts himself in his seat slightly, licking those red lips of his as if in thought. Erik can’t help but think that he’d like to lick them too, but puts much less thought into the matter than Charles seems to.

“Listen, Erik,” he says, those blue eyes looking back up to him at last. “I was just wondering - and, please, feel free to decline - but I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime, maybe to dinner or for coffee…”

“Charles,” Erik begins, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“That depends,” Charles answers, shifting slightly in his seat and sitting up a little straighter, interest piqued even more, “Would you like it to be a date?”

“Yes,” Erik replies.

“Then yes,” Charles smiles softly. “Yes, I am.”

“Then I would be happy to agree.”

“Perfect,” Charles smiles, wide and bright. It makes Erik want to lean over and kiss him. “Does Saturday at eight at the café off Laverton Street work for you?”

“Works for me,” Erik agrees, then gives a slight pause as an idea comes to mind. “Do you have a pen?”

“Yes? Ah, just let me…” he trails off as he turns around, reaching forward to a small cup next to his mirror to retrieve a pen, whipping back around to hand it to Erik once he has it. “Here you are.”

“Perfect, thank you. Make a fist,” Erik says, and after a moment, Charles follows his instruction. Delicately, Erik takes the fist in his hand, and writes his phone number along the exposed side of his thumb. When he looks up and leans away, Erik commits the smile on Charles’ lips to memory.

“I’ll give you a call, then,” Charles says.

“You better,” Erik smirks. “I’ll see you Saturday, then?”

“And you’ll hear from me before then,” Charles smiles up at him.

A healthy appreciation of the arts, indeed.


	12. Illicit Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles share an kiss in a photobooth, back when homosexuality was illegal in 1953. Based off [this picture](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/44462095814).

“Shh,  _shh!”_

Erik keeps trying to shush him, but they both keep laughing far too much and the little “shh” noises he’s making keep getting drowned out in his chuckles.

“Shut up, shut up—”

“No, you can’t - can you just move over?  _Move over_ , I said—”

“Can’t believe how small these things are - not meant for two people—”

“ _You’re_  not meant for two people—”

“Sit still, oh my god, I’m going to pinch you—”

“You wouldn’t  _dare_ —”

_Click!_

“Ow, you little fuck!”

“That’s what you get.”

Both boys glare at each other.

_Click!_

“Ow, ow— why are you pinching again—  _oh my god, don’t tickle me!”_

“Sit still!”

“ _I can’t when you’re tickling me, stop tickling—”_

And suddenly their lips are on each other’s.

_Click!_

“Did it just… when you…? Did you just  _kiss_ m—”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I was just—”

“What? No! It’s okay, I was kind of hoping— kiss me again.”

He does.

_Click!_

Passionately.

When they finally pull away, they’re both breathing hard. Charles licks his lips in a moment before he speaks again, his face flushed bright red. It makes Erik want to kiss him even more.

“You realise I can’t put this one on my mirror now, right?”

“Hah! What are you, a fourteen year-old girl?”

“No, if I was a fourteen year-old girl, you wouldn’t like me.”

“Hm, touché.”

“We’re taking another set.”

“What if I can’t stop myself from kissing you again?”

“Well then I certainly won’t stop you, but you’re paying.”


	13. By Way of Seeing Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik can see ghosts.
> 
>  **Warnings** : character death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A semi-short fic I wrote as prompted by the wonderful gokuma in response to [this tumblr on pic](http://gokuma.tumblr.com/post/45416148548/fourteenacross-pearlo-it-looks-like-erik)!

The first time he saw Charles Xavier, he was playing with ghosts.

He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the youngest Xavier at all. He’d actually meant to go through the kitchen cupboard to see what he could scrape up into a meal for the dogs, amongst the many other things he had to do as servant to the Xavier estate. That was the downside of this job - often you’d have to take on smaller jobs in order to gain access to the job you actually wanted to accomplish (and to actually make some money), and, in this case, Erik had to take on being a damned  _servant_  to these rich, pompous fucks and their stuck-up son. But, as were the ways of the hunter, he’d put up with it in order to get rid of the malevolent spirits haunting the grounds.

"What,” he said flatly when he first saw the boy of seventeen waving away the ghost he was talking to, “are you doing, exactly?”

“Nothing,” Xavier replied immediately, on the defence, standing up abruptly from his seat on the floor and nearly hitting his head on the shelf he was under. Erik thought then that it if it wasn’t for his fluffy hair, he’d have cracked his skull in half, and then he’d have  _another_  ghost to deal with. Just fucking great. “I was just… looking for a snack.”

“At 3AM?” Erik asked with a slight tilt of his head.

“Yes. I thought I’d have a midnight snack,” Xavier answered with a duck of his head that may have been half a nod.

“It’s a little bit too far past midnight for a  _midnight snack,_ ” Erik said, perhaps a little bit too tersely. Xavier swallows thickly before him. Perhaps he knew he’d been caught out. “It sounded like you were talking to someone.”

“I was talking to myself,” Xavier said, lowering his gaze slightly and trying to act embarrassed. Erik obviously wasn’t convinced.

“Right,” Erik replied, going for dry and incredulous. “Not talking to ghosts, were we?” He asked teasingly, brushing past Xavier to get to a few cans of spam for the dogs. He tried very hard not to smirk when Xavier blushed.

“No, of course not, there’s no such thing as… uhm.”

“I see them too, you know,” Erik said, turning around. The way Xavier looked at him then set him alight, like… like perhaps he wasn’t quite alone as he thought, either. Maybe this kid wouldn't be as bad as he first thought.

“You can see them?”

“Since I was a boy,” Erik answered, turning out of the closet. Xavier came rushing after him, rather like a kid on Christmas, if he was to be honest. “I hunt them - that’s my job.”

“You look like a servant to me,” Xavier noted, but then at Erik’s bristling he added, “Wait, hunt them? You  _hunt_  them?”

“Yes,” Erik replied quickly, trying to cut Xavier off before he could ramble on about them being so nice and kind, “But only the malevolent ones, the ones that hurt people. I calm them and put them to rest.”

“I see,” Xavier said after a moment, watching as Erik prepared dishes for the dogs. He was quiet then for a long time, and Erik was just as willing to let the silence take over, to let Xavier formulate his questions. He was sure to have plenty.

“I always knew I couldn’t be the only one,” Xavier said, so quietly Erik almost missed it. Instead, he  _did_  hear it, and it shocked him. He turned to Xavier, whose eyes were staring off into nowhere before they rose to meet Erik’s. Erik didn’t know what to do with that, what to say.

Instead, Xavier continued for him. “What’s it like, hunting those malevolent ghosts?”

“Long and gruelling,” Erik answered honestly, glancing up again with a questioning brow when Xavier chuckled.

“I nearly thought you said ‘long and _ghouling,’_ ” he explained again with a small laugh, then composed himself. “I’m sorry. Please, ehm… please tell me more?”

“It’s a long process,” Erik sighed, going back to preparing the meals for the dogs. “Sometimes very dangerous, depending on the spirit. A lot of research and effort goes into it - you have to find an unsolved crime or mysterious circumstance, track it down, then find out who the ghost is and what exactly has them so riled up, track  _that_ down and stop it, and then salt and burn any bones or relics of the ghost so they can be properly put to rest.”

It was another long while before Xavier said anything.

“Let me help you,” Xavier said, just as Erik finished the meals and picked up the bowls.

“Out of the question,” he answered with a shake of his head, making for the door with the food. “Good night, master Xavier.”

“No, please, let me help you!” Xavier insisted, following after him.

 _“Good_   _night_ , master Xavier,” Erik repeated, exiting the room quickly.

He was, if anything, surprised when Xavier didn’t follow after.

 _Well, better he be a good boy than a dead boy_ , Erik thought.

He pushed the thought away quickly.

The second time Erik saw the Xavier boy, he wouldn’t leave Erik alone.

“Please let me help you.”

“No, Xavier.”

“Then please call me Charles, at the very least.”

Erik sighed and closed the book he was reading, turning around to face the young Xavier.

“ _Charles,_ ” he enunciated, making sure he had his full attention. “I will  _not_  take you hunting with me. It’s far too dangerous for you - you wouldn’t know what you were doing and the only thing you _would_ do was get in my way and get hurt, and I won’t have that hanging over my head.” Xavier— _Charles_ looks stricken. Good. Perhaps he’ll leave him be. “Now, please,  _leave me alone._ ”

Though Charles followed his instruction and left, Erik couldn’t help but feel a tug at his heartstrings that he tried desperately to ignore.

 _It's better this way_ , he thought, and thought no further on what other way it could be.

The third time Erik saw Charles, it was because he was screaming.

Erik, fortunately and unfortunately, was the first and only on the scene, fortunately because he knew what to do, and unfortunately because maybe if everyone else wasn’t already  _dead_  then perhaps they could have stopped that stupid boy from interfering in the first place.

Before him, the ghost whipped around, snarling in a way that was too far past human to even have been considered _once-human._ Blood dripped from its mouth. Erik fired the rock salt before he even had a chance to think about it.

But it was already too late.

There was a spray of blood across Charles’ bed, up the walls and up each poster corner. Erik fell to his knees and let out a sob.

“ _Erik_ ,” he heard, though it was a choked noise, and Erik scrambled up to his feet and beside the bed.

“Charles, Charles,” he practically chanted, reaching forward to run a hand through his dark hair - still as fluffy and stupid as always. His face was pale, his eyes softened and clear. Erik wished they weren’t. “I told you to stay away, I told you...”

“I wanted to help you,” Charles choked out, coughing slightly. His red lips were now darker with his own blood. Erik’s stomach twisted angrily and sadly inside him.

“If I died,” Charles began again, “would you see me?”

“Probably,” Erik answered, twisting his fingers through his dark locks.

“Would you get rid of me?”

“No,” Erik said after a long time. “I don’t think I could if I tried.” Charles let out a pained laugh. Erik’s heart clenched in his chest.

“It was my birthday today,” Charles said, sounding dreamy and far-off. “I turned eighteen today.”

“Happy birthday,” Erik said, stroking his cheek, clearing away a single tear.

“Thank you,” Charles forced a weary smile for him. Erik smiled back, but it was faulty and fell quickly.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” he stuttered, trying so hard to will himself not to cry, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Charles said, and his fingers shook at his until Erik took his hand. Charles’ other hand then settled on top of his, comforting. “It’s okay.”

He died holding Erik’s hand, and didn’t whimper when Death came to him.

The fourth time Erik saw Charles, it was just after he finished burying his body.

“You took my necklace,” Charles said from behind him. When he turned to face his ghostly form, Charles gestured to the small necklace hanging out across his chest.

“Yes. It’s an easy way to keep you around,” Erik explained, and Charles laughed, a happy sound that rang in Erik’s heart.

“So you want to keep me around after all, don’t you?” Charles teased, and Erik scoffed in rebuff, picking up his shovel.

“Don’t make me throw it in the lake,” Erik threatened, though Charles could tell it was only half-hearted.

“My lips are sealed,” he smiled.

“And don’t make me throw  _you_  in the lake,” Erik threatened again, but Charles just laughed and laughed and laughed, and Erik couldn’t help smiling himself.

Perhaps he really wasn’t so alone after all.


	14. O Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little thing I wrote back in probably October or so that I also did [lineart](http://i.imgur.com/W1zuXNu.jpg) for. The ever wonderful thoseweirdthings coloured it, and the post can be found [here](http://thoseweirdthings.tumblr.com/post/45762614745/19032013-happy-tuesday-i-finally-finished-it). Good job, Alex!

There are many lands on this Earth that many of us cannot look into. Some can only manage glimpses of these lands that settle invisible to us over our own, and many more still lie about seeing them, but to almost all of us, they are not visible. These are the lands of the Dead - the Holy Land, the Daemon Land, the Spirit Land. Very few are granted access to travel between these lands. These are the beings we have come to know as Reapers; they are known as the Bringers of Death, but this is not true. They are merely guides, meant to take us from one land to another so that we may achieve peace.

In the Land in which all live humans spent their days, the Reapers are split according to Region. Each Bringer is responsible for his or her own Region, to make sure that all Souls within are accounted for, and are brought across the threshold to their new Land upon their Due Time.

The Region of Genosha was assigned to a Reaper named Erik. Erik was a man who knew much fuss when it was one’s Due Time. The soul would often fight and resist him, making claims for Unfinished Business - a common claim - or need for revenge. He had never known a soul not to resist his call. Yet, as much as the souls claimed their need to finish one deed or another, none were given the Push, which could put their Soul back into their Body so they may live to see another day yet. The Push, however, was only meant for those who were not meant to die, as their Due Time had not yet come to pass. It was a rare gift - not one he had yet to bestow.  
  
One day, a call from within his Region came to him, one of a death from sickness.  
  
He found himself led by the soul’s call into a large, luxurious home in the dead of night, neither a shout nor a whisper afoot as he stepped his way into a large bedroom, entering through the balcony. It was dark inside the bedroom, the thin curtains blowing around him as he entered, regardless of the absence of the wind that was blowing loudly outside the closed balcony doors.  
  
“O Death,” a voice said, not but a boy yet. “I have been waiting for you.” He was sitting on a stool facing a three-way vanity mirror. The mirror showed neither Erik nor the boy’s faces, the only reflection being the curtains billowing around Erik and his cloak and a bed that hid away a body the same size and shape as the boy’s, tucked away under the covers.  
  
The boy turned to him and smiled. He had a soft, kind face, one not yet weathered by age, with swooping dark hair and bright blue eyes.  
  
“What is your name, boy?” Erik asked, stepping only just slightly closer to him so the curtains settled again.  
  
“My name is Charles Francis Xavier,” he said, his chest puffing out. It just made him look smaller underneath the pajamas his soul wore. “And I am no boy.”  
  
“Charles,” Erik readdressed. “How old were you, Charles?”  
  
“I am of ten-and-five years.”  
  
“Ten-and-five years,” Erik repeated, weighing the situation. He drew closer to him in the proceeding silence. “You are young yet, boy.” Charles stood up, not in defiance, but as if in relief.  
  
“I’m ready,” he said, and Erik tilted his head at him. “I’m ready for you to take me away.”  
  
“Ten-and-five years,” Erik said again. “Many are not ready for anything at ten-and-five years.” This gave Charles pause.  
  
“I am.”  
  
Erik placed his hand to the centre of Charles’ chest, just his fingertips resting against what would have been fabric if he were alive still.  
  
“Will you at least tell me your name?”  
  
Erik took in a breath and Pushed.  
  
In the morning, the town roared with news of the young master Xavier’s miraculous recovery from a stifling life-long illness, looking as if he had never been sick a day in his life.  
  
Two years passed before Erik went again to the Xavier home for a soul’s call. When Erik stepped through the walls this time, Charles was standing in front of the mirror, facing out to him. “I have been waiting,” he said.  
  
“And you were very patient,” Erik remarked, only a slight twinge of sarcasm in his tone. Charles frowned deeply at him, as if saddened. “How old are you now, Charles?”  
  
“Seven-and-ten years,” came his reply. This time, instead of pajamas, Erik pressed his fingertips to the centre of Charles’ dress shirt.  
  
“You’re very handsome,” Charles said suddenly, and Erik looked from his hand on his chest to his eyes. Their gazes met. “Will you tell me your name?” Erik smiled sadly back at him.  
  
“Perhaps next we meet,” he said, and Pushed him once more.  
  
The town whispered.  
  
One year later, Charles stood at the end of his bed, in his Sunday’s best, Erik’s hand to his chest. Charles did not ask him his name.  
  
“Erik,” he said.  
  
Charles looked at him. “What?”  
  
“My name is Erik.”  
  
Charles stared at him. He seemed happy. Erik Pushed.  
  
The town was quiet.  
  
Six months passed before Erik found himself following a soul’s call again. He found Charles sitting at the end of his bed, his body lying prone and pale behind him.  
  
“O Death,” Charles sang. “Oh Erik,” he sighed. He was crying, even in his spirit form. Erik sat down next to him and took his hand.  
  
“Tell me, Charles,” he said, voice soft even though it was only the two of them. “Why is it you want so badly for me to take you away?”  
  
“Today was my birthday,” he sobbed. It was a stroke before midnight.  
  
“Happy birthday, Charles.”  
  
Charles looked up to him, sadness the only light in his blue, blue eyes. “You were the first one to say that to me.”  
  
Erik stood slowly, crossed the room. He could feel Charles’ eyes watching him the whole way. He brushed aside one wafting curtain, and looked out at the grounds far below, lit by the moon. He turned back to Charles and pulled back the hood on his cloak from atop his head.  
  
“Come away with me,” he said. “Come away with me - you won’t be lonely any more, not with me,” and he offered him his hand.  
  
Only Reapers can cross between Lands.  
  
Reapers, and Charles, always at Erik’s side.


	15. Recording

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik watches a video Charles left him the night of their anniversary, a night Erik ended up having to spend alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this [photoset from tumblr](http://geneticx.tumblr.com/post/50030072604). It started off with a kidnapped and held for ransom!Charles, but it got too emotional so I changed it.

At first, it’s only static and noise, but then a picture clicks into view, all green and hazy and at first unfocused. There’s a moment of noise and what sounds like fumbling, the picture on the screen tilting and flickering before a mass the colour of skin comes vaguely into view. There’s another awkward moment as the focus is shifted, and slowly a face becomes clear from the mess of colour, forming dark hair, pale skin, red lips, and familiar blue eyes.

“Erik,” the face’s voice says, weak and barely there. Erik wants to turn away. He hears a throat clear itself.

“Erik,” the face’s voice says again, and it sounds like it only just manages to keep from cracking. Erik has to stare in disbelief for a long, suspended moment, because— well, because it’s really him. It’s really Charles. Charles is speaking to him once more. He's hearing Charles' voice once more.

“Erik,” Charles says, sounding like he’s dry-swallowed a pill that’s much too large, “I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay? Today is March 3rd,” he says, but that’s wrong. March 3rd was three days ago. 

“Tomorrow will be March 4th, and after that March 5th, and next month is April, and then later it won’t even be the same year any more.” He takes a pause. Erik needs it. “I know that— well, I know that today was supposed to be our anniversary. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to end up this way. I really didn’t.”

Erik doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m really sorry, but I— you know I’ll always love you. I always have. Even when I first met you, I— well, I never believed in love at first sight, you know? It’s cliché. I know I told you when we got married, but I feel… silly right now just saying this, in this situation. But I did. I fell in love with you the moment our eyes met at the exposition that night.”

Charles eyes are beginning to form tears. Erik’s been crying for three days.

“You looked so good in that tux. I have no doubt in my mind that it was tailored perfectly to fit you. But I never… I never imagined in my life that the CEO of Lehnsherr Corp. would ever— would ever be  _you_. I had no idea. No idea at all. And I’ve loved you ever since. I still love you.

“I love you, and I’ll always remember you. I… I’ll always cherish that day when…” He laughs, quietly. Erik thinks of the word  _brokenly._ “That day when when you first asked me out. We’d known each other… god, how long, a few days? Barely. But you showed up on the beach behind Raven’s waterfront house, walking your dog and you— I was so excited to see you. I nearly didn’t speak to you in case you didn’t want to speak to me again, you know, because we’d only just met the once at the exposition with the short conversation we had and the promise of drinks. But I… I walked out onto the beach after you and— god, wow, I was so… so startled by how amazing you looked then in the sunset. I think I startled you more, though, since you didn’t know I lived there - well, Raven lived there and I was staying there, but I didn’t really know you lived there either, but— and Benji was so happy to meet me. He was so young then, only just a puppy— how old is he... what, fourteen now, I think? Yeah, that’s about right. And now he’s all old and grey.” Erik’s chest constricts at Charles’ weak smile here, seeming so sad and… alone.

Erik never wanted him to feel alone. Erik’s job was to  _be there for him._

“Say hi to him for me, will you? Scratch his neck for me; you know how he loves that. I bet he’s asleep by the fireplace now, isn’t he?”

As if on cue, Benji raises his head from where he was resting next to the fireplace, making his collar tags - all labelled  _Benjamin Col Lehnsherr-Xavier_  with various addresses and phone numbers - tinkle as he tilts his head in question at Erik.

Behind him, on the computer screen, Charles continues slowly again.

“I’ll always love Benji, too. I never had a dog before, you know. Or a pet at all, really, but, uh… of course you already did know that. We’ve been married eleven years, after all, and— well. Benji’s important to me, but I knew I couldn’t take him with me here. Obviously, I mean, he… he’s your dog, in the end. I just hope that… you know, that he won’t miss me too much.

“I… thought vaguely about taking other things too, I guess. I took a copy of a few photos with the printer. I wanted you to have the originals, because I won’t be needing…”

While Charles trails off, Erik presses his eyes shut, holding back the forceful tide of sobs waiting to break out of his chest.

“Well, I took a copy of my favourites. The one on my nightstand, with you, ah— when we were all at Coney Island and we got some stranger in a ridiculously bright jacket to take a picture of the four of us. Hank and Raven look so happy in that photo, that I couldn’t bear but to take it with me, you know. I’ll miss them too…

“The other is, uh… that one I took of you and your mother linking arms, your back to the camera as you look out over the field, because I— do you remember that day? Your mother invited us for a picnic out in the meadow by her farm. I… I still laugh sometimes about how I didn’t even realise your mother was tying flowers into my hair for - for  _hours_. I admit I can be a bit oblivious at times, but that was… beyond me, I guess. Either way, you know, that was… probably the second best day of my life. The first obviously being the day I married you. Raven was beautiful in her dress and your mother was crying and you looked so handsome in your wedding suit that I just— I had to—”

Charles is crying readily now, and so is Erik.

“I love you so much,” Charles chokes out, tear after tear streaming down his face. “I just love you so much. I’m going to miss you so much. I’ll never forget you, and I’ll never, ever stop loving you because I— because you’re Erik Magnus Lehnsherr and I love every last thing about you. I love how you smile. I love that your favourite flavour of ice cream is toffee, even though you don’t really like coffee to drink. I love that you always make me a cup of tea and a perfectly well-spread cream cheese bagel in the morning. I love how you shrug your shoulders just before you laugh. I love that you love doing the dishes but hate taking out the trash, and how you’re so efficient and that you like cooking, and that all of your books need to be ordered by the Dewey decimal system, and that when my favourite cologne stopped being produced, you wrote the company to ask for any that they had left, and they gave it to you, and that you let me lick the bowl when you make Raven’s birthday cake, and that you only like to sit with either your ankles crossed or your right ankle on your left knee, and that— I love absolutely everything about you. I even love you when you’re cross with me. I really do. I’ve been married to you for eleven years and I still love all those things about you as if it was our honeymoon. And I always will. I always, always will.

“But that’s why I have to do this. That’s why I made this. I love you, but I need you to move on. That’s why I never told you about this until— until now. Because I need you to move on and continue living your life and be happy.”

A single tear runs down Erik’s cheek now.

“Please. For me.”

He turns his face away.

“I’m doing this because I love you. I need you to do this for me. I love you so much, but…”

Erik closes his eyes against the storm.

“This is goodbye, Erik. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

For a moment, there’s the static of silence, only the sounds of Erik and Charles breathing, one in the chair and the other on camera three days ago. It must last a minute, or maybe an hour, before there’s a rustle of Charles moving to turn off the camera.

Slowly, from his spot by the fire place, Benji stands and moves slowly towards Erik, his bones creaking all the way, until he can press his muzzle into Erik’s palm, whining softly.

Erik opens his mouth and takes in a shuddering breath, letting it out after a long, suspended moment in a shaky sigh as he finally moves his hand to place it gently on their dog’s head.

“Yeah, buddy, I miss him too.” Erik sighs, voice and throat constricted with holding back the floor. “But the… the doctors did what they could. So we have to keep going, you and I, don’t we?”

Below him, Benji nuzzles his hand again, something Erik takes to mean that he agrees.

Three days ago, on March 3rd, their anniversary, at 11:23PM, Charles Francis Xavier was pronounced dead due to stage 4 lung cancer. People will talk for years to come if it was suicide, but Erik?

Erik knows better than that.


End file.
